


The Magic of Tattoos

by IndraraSkye



Category: Teen Wolf (TV)
Genre: Alpha Derek, M/M, Merry Christmas, Rated E for hand jobs, Slight Dirty Talk, Tattoos, sterek
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2017-12-26
Updated: 2017-12-26
Packaged: 2019-02-22 04:58:49
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,888
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/13159773
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/IndraraSkye/pseuds/IndraraSkye
Summary: Derek thinks Stiles is injured, but he's not. Revelations and sexy hijinks occur.





	The Magic of Tattoos

A hint of red and black flashed out from under the edge of Stiles’s t-shirt. It was a thin line, the smallest peek of something. It shouldn’t have been there. Stiles had insisted after that run-in with the wendigo a couple weeks ago that he hadn’t been hurt, and Derek hadn’t pushed the issue. Maybe he should have. Stiles was their only human; he needed to be more careful of the boy’s health. He was breakable, after all—fragile, delicate. As the alpha, it was Derek’s job to protect his human. God knew McCall wasn’t doing an effective job of keeping his friend safe.

“And that’s why I really think we need to be recording all this stuff. I’ll do it. I don’t have a problem doing it, of course. I’m already doing most of the research anyway, writing stuff down isn’t going to be that big a thing. We could be building on your family’s bestiary. That’s continuing with a legacy, which is a good thing, right? Derek? Derek! Are you even listening to me at all?”

Derek looked at Stiles. He had no idea what he’d been talking about, but that wasn’t really important just then. Stiles _looked_ okay. He couldn’t see any cuts or bruising on his face or neck. His hands looked clear. He wasn’t walking with any visible limp, and he was breathing clearly. Derek leaned in and sniffed at Stiles’s skin. He didn’t smell like infection or rot. The slightest coppery tinge of blood hid under his human’s clothes, but it was old. The smell of ink clung to his skin, but Stiles always smelled like ink. Derek had no idea how he managed to actually break so many ballpoint pens.

“What the hell, man?” Stiles looked offended. Derek took a moment to wonder if he should worry about why Stiles was offended now or not before deciding on not. 

“Why didn’t you tell me?” He knew he was growling, but Stiles should have told him he was injured. Derek had come to trust him; if it turned out he held out on him about something like this, what else was Stiles holding out on?

“Tell you what? I honestly have no idea what you’re talking about at this point!” Stiles wasn’t lying. Derek rolled his eyes and grabbed Stiles’s arm, shaking it none-too-gently and nodding quickly at it with his eyebrows raised.

“Oh. That. Well, I didn’t think it was that big a deal, really. You noticed?”

“Stiles.”

“Look, I was going to tell you! I just wanted to get it a bit more under control first. I didn’t want you to freak out, which, by the way, is exactly what you’re doing, so point for me!” Stiles wrenched his arm back and rubbed at his forearm where Derek had grabbed it. “Also, please remember that you big, strong werewolf and me breakable human. Jeez.”

“You should have told me, Stiles. These are things I need to know as the alpha. How am I supposed to do my job if I don’t have all the facts?”

“Again, _alpha_ , I was going to tell you once it was a bit more under control--”

“How bad is it?”

Stiles scrunched up his nose. “What?”

Derek nodded at his bicep. “How bad?”

“Derek, what are we talking about right now?”

Derek leaned back in his seat and stared at Stiles, who was still seated in the chair next to him from the pack meeting. “Stiles, just tell me how badly you were injured. I swear, I’ll hunt the others down and kill them myself if—”

Stiles laughed. “I should have figured that from the start. I wasn’t hurt, Der. I told you then that I wasn’t hurt, and I didn’t lie to you, but thank you for going all alpha wolf protector and being willing to rip the heads off those who hurt your pack members for me. My arm is tattooed, not injured.”

Stiles lifted his shirt sleeve and revealed a red stake outlined in black ink. It was an…interesting choice, but Derek didn’t understand why it was there. Stiles had shown no interest in tattoos when McCall had insisted on his. He hadn’t expressed any interest in them since. Why did he have one now?

Stiles lowered his shirt sleeve and stuck his tongue out at Derek. Derek raised an eyebrow in response. 

“It’s pretty much healed, obviously. They all are--”

“All?” 

Stiles sighed. “Yes, all. As in more than just the one. I had them done after the Wendigos this last time.”

The tat looked good on the kid’s arm. The ink stood bright against that fair, creamy skin. “Explain.”

“Well, I went in and asked for very specific tattoos, and the guy grunted and pointed at his chair, so I sat down and he inked me.”

There were times he didn’t know if he wanted to strangle the kid or applaud his audacity. Stiles knew exactly what he was asking. Derek wasn’t sure how the sheriff dealt with this on a daily basis for the last seventeen years and didn’t turn out to be a raging alcoholic. Derek sat up and smacked Stiles across the back of his head. “Explain.”

“Fine. You remember Deaton commenting that time with the mountain ash…ash that I had a spark, a potential magic in me?”

_Fuck_. This was not going to end any place Derek wanted it to. “Yes. I remember. What did you do?”

“Why does everyone always ask me that just like that? _What did you do?_ Not _what happened_ or _did you figure something out_ or _please continue_ , no. _What did you do_ , like it’s just inherently going to be terrib--”

“Stiles. Please fucking continue.”

“Fine. So, I couldn’t get to that potential on my own because blah, blah, blah, so I turned to research because it’s my thing. Turns out that there’s such a thing as tattoo magic, and there’s a supernatural tattoo guy in the next town over. I just had to come up with a list of tattoos I wanted, fake a consent form, and _presto_! I could tap into my otherwise dormant magic.” Stiles smiled smugly. Derek resisted the urge to smack the back of his head again, choosing instead to lean forward and massage his temples, keeping his hands to himself. Fucking kids.

“And when you say _all_ and _a list_ , how many, exactly, are we talking?”

“Like, twelve. Not that many.” 

Derek was a fairly chill wolf. He was not going to lecture Stiles about poor life choices and the permanence of ink. He was also turning over a new, generally non-violent leaf. He was not going to slam the boy against the wall and shake some sense into him. He just wasn’t going to do that.

“Show me.”

“I’m not sure I want to. You’re not nearly as pleased about this as you should be, you know. I’ve got access to a whole bunch of new offensive and defensive--”

Derek leaned closer to Stiles, getting close to his face. Stiles could get away with a lot because he was the human of the pack and technically not answerable to Derek, but there was only so far Derek would be pushed. He growled, his eyes flashing red. He heard Stiles swallow, watched the boy’s adam’s apple bob just slightly. Stiles’s pulse increased slightly and Derek smirked. His human did remember his place. “Show me.”

Stiles sat back and grabbed the bottom of his t-shirt, tugging up on it. A thicker line of dark hair than Derek had expected made a short treasure trail from Stiles’s belly button to the waist of his pants. It looked coarse, and Derek had to fight the need to brush his fingers against it and find out if it was as rough as it looked to be. 

Stiles tugged the shirt up further and Derek’s eyes followed its movement, taking in the skin it revealed. Freckles dotted the pale skin of his chest, but no hair mapped the planes of his pecs. Derek wondered if the guy had to shave it for the tats. He tried to picture hair on Stiles’s chest, just a smattering of it. It would have to be lathered if it was going to be shaved—razor burn was a bitch. Lathering that skin would be fun. It would spread so easily, everything being so smooth. He bet Stiles would like it, the initial chill of the cold and the slow warmth of his hands against the lather. He’d use a straight razor; it would offer a closer shave, would last longer. He could hear Stiles’s increased breathing as he pressed steadily down, flicking the razor out and away just before his nipple—

His eyes flashed red momentarily, and he shook his head and wondered where _that_ kink had come from. He took in the reason Stiles was taking his shirt off in the first place—the ink. The first thing he took in was the plethora of colors across his boy’s chest. Every color of the rainbow danced across his vision, mixing and mingling in shapes and patterns and outlined in black and silver. Most of the tats were watercolor style, though a rare few were old skool. The artist was talented. Derek had to admit that. Before he’d realized what was happening, his hand reached out. His fingers brushed across the contrasting colors on that pale canvas. The skin was only slightly raised, healed nicely by all accounts. It felt cool to his touch, which surprised him. He’d expected warmth.

He looked from Stiles’s chest to the boy’s deep brown eyes and found that he’d forgotten to breathe. He inhaled sharply and Stiles darted his tongue out, wetting his lips. Derek’s own lips felt desert dry, parched and chapped suddenly. He wanted to lick them, but his tongue felt dry and swollen to twice its normal size. He needed a drink. His hand was still moving, massaging wavy lines across Stiles’s chest. Stiles’s pupils widened slightly, and that was all the invitation Derek needed. He lunged in, his dry lips meeting with Stiles’s wet ones and their teeth clacking together roughly. His hand smoothed back over Stiles’s chest and around to his back, drawing him in against his own body.

Stiles wrapped his arms around Derek’s neck, his hands tangling in Derek’s hair. Derek kissed into Stiles’s mouth, plunging his tongue into that velvet heat. He wrapped his other hand around the back of Stiles’s thigh, pulling it in and behind him. Stiles slid against him, his mouth never losing contact and his tongue dancing against Derek’s. Derek kissed down and along his jawline, nips and small licks accenting each kiss as he worked his way to Stiles’s earlobe. He bit gently at the flesh of his ear, listening to the uptick of his human’s heart as he did it. He licked and soothed it before crooking his head and licking a stripe up the side of his neck. Stiles’s breath caught at this, and Derek reveled at the reaction. 

One of Stiles’s hands dipped down and traced a line up the middle of Derek’s spine, a pleasant cold chill following his fingers. 

“Too many clothes,” Stiles rasped.

Derek stopped, trying to figure out what his boy was talking about. “What?”

“You’re wearing too many clothes.”

“So fix it,” Derek whispered against his ear. In yet another instance in which Derek didn’t know whether to lick him or kill him, Stiles jumped and started and tugged on Derek’s shirt, elbowing him in the side and kneeing him in the hip in the process. Derek grunted. 

“Sorry, sorry,” Stiles muttered. “I just don’t get the chance to see a naked, well-muscled werewolf very often.”

Derek snorted and helped Stiles with his shirt. When it was off Stiles’s hands moved over Derek’s chest, his eyes following the movement. Derek watched him. He still seemed so innocent, even after everything they’d been through. He was so wide-eyed, so enthusiastic. Derek admired that about him. He smiled at his boy, his chest swelling with pride and affection and…Damn. He didn’t just admire that in Stiles—he loved him for that. He leaned in and nudged Stiles’s head with his own, bumping noses with his human for a few seconds before kissing him deeply again. 

Stiles had straddled him on his chair at some point, but Derek wasn’t actually sure when that had happened. He couldn’t reach all that magnificent ink from this angle, and he wanted his mouth on it. He wanted to taste it. “This isn’t going to work,” Derek declared.

Stiles sputtered. “Wait, what?”

Derek looped one arm around Stiles’s ass and the other around his back, standing up and carrying him to the couch. Stiles squeaked and wriggled slightly, so Derek dropped him onto the couch and then crawled on top of him before he could get indignant, licking and sucking his way up Stiles’s stomach and chest, his tongue teasing every line and splotch of ink. One of Derek’s hands teased at the button of Stiles’s ratty old blue jeans, threatening to pop it open but never actually doing it. Stiles was actually panting by the time Derek reached his mouth. It was the hottest thing Derek had heard in years. 

“Derek, please,” Stiles stuttered, out of breath.

“What? Tell me,” he demanded. “Tell me what you want.”

“You. I want you. Touch me. Kiss me. Claim me. Make me yours.”

“Jesus,” Derek breathed. “Yes. Yes to all of that.”

He popped the button on Stiles’s jeans. Okay, so he may have been a bit overzealous. It may have actually popped off. He didn’t think Stiles would really mind. He pulled Stiles’s jeans and boxers down his thighs just enough to gain access to a surprisingly long cock. He laid wet, sloppy kisses along Stiles’s face and jaw as his hand pumped up and down, twisting and tickling. 

“Fuck, Derek,” Stiles gasped. “Feels so good, baby. So good. Want you inside me.”

And that was Derek’s luck. He bit down the sigh he desperately wanted to let loose and did what he always ended up doing—he improvised. He shoved Stiles’s pants down further and stuck two fingers into his boy’s mouth. “Suck. Lick.”

Stiles did as he was told, and Derek almost came still fully clothed from the waist down. Damn, but he wanted that tongue wrapping around him. He enjoyed the tight warmth of Stiles’s lips around his fingers, imagining his cock in their place for a few seconds. 

“Touch yourself,” Derek commanded, removing his other hand from Stiles’s length in order to hold himself up. Stiles kept acting the part of the good boy, reaching down and grasping himself, tugging rough and fast. 

“Slower.”

Stiles slowed down and Derek reached down and massaged along Stiles’s ass with a slick, wet finger, rubbing gently around his hole. “Relax, baby,” he whispered. “I’ve got you. You’re mine. I’m gonna take such good care of you.”

He kissed Stiles, licking at his lips and his tongue. Stiles relaxed into the kiss, one arm looped loosely around Derek and the other one pulling slowly at his cock. Derek breached him with one wet finger, their kiss becoming sloppy and heated. He pushed in more and Stiles pulled him closer. 

“More,” Stiles rasped. “Please, more.”

“Not yet, baby. Not yet.”

Derek fucked him with one finger, kissing and licking and occasionally reminding Stiles to keep touching himself. Stiles begged and pleaded for more until finally a second finger joined the first. Stiles was so tight, so hot. God, he wanted to be inside him. He’d take him so well.

Stiles got rougher with himself and Derek nipped at his jaw. “Stop that. Nice and slow.”

Stiles moaned, and Derek let loose. “You like that? That feels so good, doesn’t it, sweetheart? God, you feel so good around my fingers. Jesus, I bet you’d feel amazing around my fucking cock. Can you imagine it, Stiles? Can you feel it, baby? Me fucking my cock inside you? I’m not as long as you, but baby, I’m bigger. I’ll need to open you wider before that happens.”

Stiles gasped and tightened around Derek’s fingers. He crooked them and rubbed, finding that spot he knew would seal the deal. “That’s it baby. You imagining it? You sitting on my cock, fucking me properly? You wanna be my bitch, sweet boy? I’d make you my bitch, fuck you rough and proper. Might even shift for it if you asked me real nice. God, that’d feel good. Bet you’d make me howl, wouldn’t you?”

Stiles released both a string of profanities and a string of cum across his stomach, becoming so tight around Derek’s fingers Derek was a little worried about damage from lack of circulation. Just as suddenly as the orgasm hit, Stiles relaxed under him, a blissed-out sigh of contentment bubbling out of him. 

Derek smiled and pulled his fingers out, wiping them off on his jeans before collapsing on top of Stiles and kissing his cheek.

“Damn,” Stiles whispered against his mouth. “If I’d have known that all it took to have this was getting tattoos, I’d have done it a year ago.”

He laughed and nuzzled his boy’s cheek one more time. “Stiles, shut up.”


End file.
